


lunch

by superlawyer



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superlawyer/pseuds/superlawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter’s on his lunch break, and he’s needy. Matt’s in his office, and he’s busy. Peter pays him a visit; Matt pays him a kindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lunch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the request “matt takes it slow and it’s torture for peter. aka peter’s impatient and matt loves to see him squirm”. This is where my mind went. Yeah, I'm not sure, either, haha. 
> 
> I tagged this as first-time "friends with benefits" because it comes off as that, to me, but if you think this is more established relationship or something else, go for it!

"Mr. Murdock?" His receptionist buzzes in, reluctance prominent in her voice.

"Yes, Alyssa?" Matt replies, filing away research.

"There’s a Mr.—" Hushed whispers, still discernible to Matt’s ears, sound through the line.

"— A Mr. Parker here to see yo—" Alyssa’s line cuts off.

Matt sighs.

"Let him in."

Peter rushes into the office, lanyards around his neck swaying in response. He tosses his messenger bag off to the side.

"Matt—"

"—Why are you here?" Matt asks, still seated at his desk, not even venturing to tilt his head up at the man in acknowledgement.

"I," Peter rubs the back of his neck, shrugging, "Well, now I just feel pretty dumb."

Matt sighs, again, louder, more pronounced this time.

"That wouldn’t be the first time." Matt says, cracking his knuckles idly, "Tell me — what was so important that you had to burst in here, my place of work, at…"

He tilts his head down to check his watch, for dramatic effect, “12:17.”

Peter rolls his eyes, slumping down in one of the chairs in front of Matt’s desk, “Why do you even wear a watch, if you’re just going to sniff the wind or listen to the sunbeams or—”

"—For style. So, are you going to attempt to dodge my question some more, or, what?"

Peter fidgets in his chair, “Maybe.”

"Can you at least quit doing that, then?" Matt rests his head against his hand, elbow propped on the desk, fingertips pressed against his temple, "Your squirming makes that chair sound like a rickety old wooden coaster."

"Uh, sorry. Also, that’s really, oddly specific."

"Thanks. I’ve been trying to be more vivid and literary these days. Been listening to some audiobooks in my spare time."

They both suppress laughter at the notion of “spare time”.

Matt continues, “Seriously, Pete. I’m working. You probably are, or should be, too. What gives?”

Peter answers, hastily, drumming his fingers on his legs, “Lunch break. I’m on lunch break.”

"Last I checked, and despite what my partner would lead you to believe, this law firm’s not a restaurant, so, I’m not sure why you’re here for that." Matt says, sitting back in his chair and stretching his arms out over his head, his back cracking softly.

"It’s not about food." Peter replies, now scuffing his shoes against the hardwood flooring of the office.

"Not about food," Matt repeats to himself, tapping the end of his pen to his chin, "Well, then, what could it possibly be about?"

"Oh, come on." Peter rolls his eyes, sinking lower in his chair, "Don’t play coy with me."

"Me?" Matt says, "No, never. I’m open and honest, 100% of the time. Part of my duty."

"Matt."

"Peter."

"Don’t make me say it."

"Say what?"

"It."

"All right. Let me narrow this down to two possibilities: is this a matter of business or pleasure?"

Peter makes a noise in the back of his throat, mumbling, “… Pleasure.”

"So, let me take a  _wild_  guess. You want me to,” Matt lowers his voice in both pitch and volume, leaning forward, “Fuck you here, to satisfy some little fantasy of yours, right?”

"… Um, I saw it in this movie and—"

"—And you think that you’re going to simply drop in unannounced and try to persuade me to do it, but on  _your_  terms, and on  _your_  schedule?”

"That’s not, uh, what I—"

"Here’s the deal," Matt reclines back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head, voice still low, "I’m going to fuck you, right here, on my desk, but I’m going to take as long as I want to. You may have a set time to get back, but I don’t."

Peter doesn’t reply. He clears his throat, sliding farther down in his chair.

"So, are you in?" Matt asks, his glasses resting lower on the bridge of his nose, cloudy eyes staring Peter down.

Peter sulks in his seat, almost whining, “I just wanted some quick fun, is all.”

"Take it or leave it. Now or never." Matt responds, still leaning back in his chair, still staring down Peter to the best of his ability.

"If now’s not a good time—"

"—Take it or leave it."

"Okay, god, fine, I… okay. Sure. Yeah. I. Yeah."

Matt sits back up in his chair, then rises out of it. He removes the filing bins from his desk, setting them on the floor carefully, and unplugs the keyboard, storing it in one of the desk drawers.

Peter just watches him. He pulls off his lanyards, dropping them to the side of his chair as quietly as he can.

"Don’t touch yourself." Matt murmurs while moving his small monitor to a nearby shelf.

"I was just—"

"—Don’t."

Peter sighs, holding his hands up in the air like a criminal.

"I’m not." Peter smiles to himself, waving his hands, "Don’t you see?"

Matt doesn’t rebuttal. He opts to slink to the door, pull down the fabric screen over its window, and lock it.

Peter clears the air, hesitantly, fiddling with his hands in his lap, “Wait, uh, are there still… is your assistant still in? Is Foggy…?”

"Of course everyone’s still in." Matt states, smirking, making his way back to the desk, "It’s just a normal work day, after all."

Peter chews his lip, nodding to himself, muttering, “Yeah, normal…”

Matt sits at the edge of his desk, precisely in front of Peter. He removes his glasses and tucks them into the breast pocket of his blazer. He shrugs off his blazer, the lining catching on the contours of his arms, and untucks his shirt, working at the buttons of it, one-by-one. He loosens and removes his tie, tossing it aside. He inches his shirt off of him, revealing more and more skin, more neck and then torso and then abdomen, some areas faintly scarred, others more noticeably keloided, all of his marks a story etched on him by the many he’s fought in his years, all of his marks embossed letters that Peter longs to read.

"Do the honors." Matt says, a wry smile on his face as he gestures to his belt and cocks his hips forward and off of the desk.

Peter sits up out of his chair, settling between Matt’s legs, and quickly unclasps his belt. Right as he pops open the top button of Matt’s slacks, Matt leans up, vampire-like, unassuming speed and stealth, and catches him in a slow, soft kiss, closed-lipped and gentle.

Peter presses into the kiss, prying apart Matt’s lips with his tongue, and it’s good for the two beats it lasts before Matt sets a hand on his chest and pushes Peter away.

"—What?" Peter asks, blinking his eyes back open, frowning.

"You’re going at my pace." Matt informs him, toying with his own fly, "Remember the deal?"

"But that was such a good kiss!" Peter protests.

"There’ll be better," Matt draws him flush against him by the waist, whispering into the crook of his neck, "I promise."

Peter just nods, a flush blooming across his face and neck.

Matt smiles against his skin. He sucks at his neck, grazing the skin with his teeth, and snakes his hands between them to unbutton Peter’s shirt.

"Uh, permission to take off my pants?" Peter asks, in a hushed tone, his head tilted back and his eyes closed shut as Matt’s lips press more kisses down the line of his throat, and as Matt’s hands continue to massage small circles into his hips.

"Granted."

Matt’s voice rolls across Peter’s neck like lush steam, all heat and warmth and air. He rests back on his elbows, waiting. His torso and arms are precisely carved, compact, chiseled, efficient. They have enough bulk that he can be physically imposing on the streets, but not so much bulk that they slow him down. The peaks of his hipbones peer out from his dangerously low slung waistband like cut, faceted gemstones, catching attention and wandering gazes. The canyons of his V-lines trail further past them, hinting. Matt’s entire body, in fact, is composed of sharp angles and hard lines, but this appearance is often betrayed by his affinity for thick blazers and plush sweaters. Peter feels almost fortunate to see him like this, no red fabric to cling to and obscure the exact definitions of his physique, just lots of skin and tone, his new favorite form of geometry.

Matt, as if he feels Peter’s eyes on him, takes the initiative to pull off his own slacks, sliding them slowly down his legs and off. Peter fumbles with his own belt, his hands shaky. He averts his stare to the floor.

"C’mere." Matt waves him over. Peter shuffles back to him, and in the matter of a few moments, Matt helps Peter out of his dark jeans. He pulls Peter down on top of him, and they fall back on the desk, Peter’s thighs straddling Matt’s hips. Peter runs his hands across Matt’s chest, slowly, reluctantly, and Matt shivers, moving his own hands to wrap around his wrists, drawing Peter’s arms around his neck, pressing them against each other, Matt’s arms around his waist, hands flat against his back, suggesting, kneading lightly. Peter takes the hint, rolling his hips down against Matt’s, Matt’s hips bucking up in exchange, the two motions forming a rhythmic, breathy friction until Peter’s rolling down faster, more urgently, lips parted, and Matt rolls them over, his arms at each side of Peter’s shoulders.

Matt almost looms over him until he cracks a small smile.

"Stay where you are." He murmurs, gliding his hands down Peter’s torso until they reach the waistband of his briefs. He hooks his fingers under the elastic and slides them down agonizingly slowly, inducing a brief hiss from Peter, until they’re off.

Matt dips down, lips so close to the head of Peter’s length, Peter just wants to—

"Doing okay?" His breath ghosts against it, and he kisses the tip, featherlight and quick.

Peter’s hips jerk, and Matt pulls up, reflexively. He pins his hips down with his hands and wraps his lips around the head, drawing down, taking in more, tongue rolled around the shaft.

Peter has to bite his own fist to keep from groaning too audibly.

Matt draws his head back up, then bobs back down to the base , as far as he can go.

"Matt,  _fuck_ , please.” Peter tries not to be too loud, but it’s almost impossible with Matt’s lips against him, his tongue on him, his mouth around him, unfathomably good, unfair.

Matt’s lips drag back up his shaft, then past the head, a wet, faint pop echoing into the air.

He pulls away, reaching for the side of the desk. He unlocks and pulls open a bottom drawer, extracting a bottle and a condom.

Matt pushes Peter’s thighs apart. He opens the bottle over Peter’s abdomen, pouring it over his fingers, excess dripping down to Peter’s skin.

Peter watches it all unfold, eyes wide, swallowing thickly. Matt presses a finger against his entrance.

"Relax." Matt whispers, his other hand rubbing more circles into Peter’s hip.

Peter inhales, then exhales. Matt pushes a finger in, moving it in, then out. Matt whispers quiet reassurances to him. He pushes two in, moving them deeper, faster, in scissoring motions. Peter’s breathing becomes shallower.

"Gonna make it so good for you." Matt says, pushing in three, feeling Peter’s back arch in response, feeling his heart race.

Peter just nods, biting his lip, eyes squeezed shut.

Matt finishes preparing him. He sits back on his legs and rolls on a condom, slicking himself up.

"Still want to?" He asks.

The words dart out of Peter’s mouth, “More than anything, oh my god.”

Matt smirks. He slides off the desk. Peter sits up, but then, Matt’s lips are on his, and his arms are around his waist, guiding him. Matt settles in his chair, bringing Peter over him, on top of him. Peter brings his hips down on him gradually, and breaks the kiss, his lips fallen apart, hissing out a breath. Matt catches him again, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other wrapped around his waist, and slips his tongue past his lips. Peter lowers himself the rest of the way down, and Matt clutches his waist with both of hands, encouraging him. Peter wraps his arms around the headrest of the chair, anchoring himself, and he raises his hips, then slides them back down, and Matt sighs out in the centimeters between them, eyes half-lidded.

"You’re so fucking tight." He murmurs, right into Peter’s ear.

Peter grinds down onto him in response. He brings himself up, then back down, up, then back down, faster and shallower, just needing that sensation, the chair squeaking and bouncing in time under them.

Matt tightens his grip on Peter’s waist, slowing him, then wraps his arms around his waist, hoisting them out of the chair and spreading Peter back on the desk. Matt grabs his thighs, pulling him back flush against him. Peter wraps his legs around Matt’s waist, and Matt pushes in, slowly, burying himself deeper, until he’s in to the hilt, and Peter’s writhing underneath him, rolling his hips again around him, needing more, needing to move.

"Mm, faster, I need—"

"Not our deal." Matt replies gruffly. He stills inside of Peter. Peter tightens and releases around him.

"I’ll pull out," Matt sucks in a moan, "If you don’t stop."

"Please, I need to." Peter’s voice becomes more erratic, undoubtedly louder.

"You will." Matt says.

He moves his hips again in long, deep, consistent thrusts, working Peter open.

Peter bites down on his fist, whining low behind it, until Matt’s pace quickens, and he’s getting drilled and then, then it’s game over, and Peter groans out, getting fucked hard and open, getting _taken_. He couldn’t care less if the whole office hears, if the whole building hears, if everyone in the city hears; this is so worth the potential embarrassment.

"Fuck me, fuck me, so good sogood." Peter moans, loud, open, honest, his long arms over his head, hands locked in a white-knuckled grip of the edge of the desk.

Matt swears under his breath with each thrust, each drag, searing heat and unbearable tightness.

"Pleaseplease." Peter whines, "I’m so close."

Matt’s eyes flutter open, and he slows down his pace, letting the drag slide up and down around him.

"God, your heart." Matt smirks, yet again. He stops, lifts Peter off of the desk by the waist, and shows his appreciation for the new angle by bucking his hips the entire way in, and Peter’s eyes go comically wide, and his head lolls back, resting weakly back on his arms.

"Love doing this to you." Matt breathes out against Peter’s neck before sinking his teeth in enough to leave a mark.

Peter’s hips, waist, thighs, ass — every part of him tries to work more on Matt, work faster. He struggles to fuck himself on him, as with every push, Matt pulls back, almost entirely out.

"S-stop fucking withme." Peter grits out.

"Stop fucking you?" Matt pulls out, abruptly, "This what you want?"

“ _Matt._ " Peter groans, loud, desperate.

"Peter."

"Please."

Matt slams his hips back in, then drags them back out, then slams them back in, then back out.

"Please, so close, fuck." Peter almost shouts.

Matt kisses Peter messily, all tongue and teeth, and drives in fast, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the air. Peter moans into his mouth, shaking, and comes in harsh waves, ribboning his stomach and Matt’s chest. Matt breaks the kiss and works through it, works through the spasms until they milk it out of him, squeezing him for everything he has. Matt, despite his clenched jaw, groans louder than he’d hoped, hips twitching, head spinning, caught between his own release and the aftershocks of Peter’s.

"… Fuck." Matt pants, pulling out. He ties off, then lies back down on the desk between Peter’s legs.

"… Yeah." Peter replies, equally as dazed, in almost a croak, stroking Matt’s hair, "Can I just… can I just stay here, for a bit?"

Matt replies, “Of course.”

Peter closes his eyes, nodding weakly, “Thanks.”

"I think you need to pay me visits more often." Matt says, smirking lazily.

Peter grins, “My boss might kill me.”

"You could work here instead," Matt replies, "Be my personal assistant."

Peter laughs, “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard, and I’m the expert on bad ideas.”

"I don’t know; I may have you beat there." Matt deadpans, "Hm. Then, how about we try doing this, you know, in one of our places?"

"Sure. I’ll have my people call your people," Peter quips, "We’ll do lunch. And other stuff."

Matt smiles, “Deal.”


End file.
